Classic Poem

Love (being blinde) hath wrought me damage sore,
Thou (blinde in this my loving) evill wast,
Nor would I see the snare (being blinde farre more)
Wherein my selfe I did entangle fast:
Yet hath this blindnes harme done unto none,
But unto Beauties Buzzard, me alone.
When blinded Boy did catch my harmlesse Hart,
Thou didst not see the net so intricate
Which bound mee (being blinde, blinde as thou art)
To be a thrall, in this most wretched state:
So that (alone to worke my misery)
Love blinde is, blinde wert Thou, and blinder I.